


Catuccino

by NeonTitanium



Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Coffee, Coffee Shops, Demons, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Mild Accidental Domestic Harm (see description), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Superheroes, Trans Male Character, Trans!Jackie, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2020-12-20 18:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21061052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonTitanium/pseuds/NeonTitanium
Summary: "There was something about the hollowness that made it seem like every memory that stood there was invalid, like it had all been for nothing."Or:Jackie is upset to find, upon returning to his hometown in Ireland, that his childhood hangout spot, The Console Kingdom, had been shut. Well, he would be fine, as long as it wasn't turned into a coffee shop, or something.Hero!Jackie and Barista/Witch!Marvin with Anti vs. Jackie fights, Chase and Seán banter, and maybe a few other familiar faces along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I've rewritten all these notes.
> 
> • Jackie is a transguy (a popular headcanon that rose from Jack's 'Fractured But Whole' playthrough.)  
• I'm a transguy.  
• A lot of Jackie's feelings are my own feelings, so if you don't agree with them, just remember that they are my own feelings, so consider that when constructively criticising (thank you!)
> 
> Yeah, that's it, really. Read the tags, and enjoy! This one's gonna be a long one!
> 
> Trigger Warning Tags (to be updated with each chapter; contains spoilers for entire fic):  
\- Mild Accidental Domestic Harm (A boyfriend accidentally hits his girlfriend and scares her)  
\- Alcohol consumption (A character consumes alcohol in a coffee, he is unaffected by the alcohol)  
\- Mention of Drugs (Mentions the superhero fighting drug dealers/drug users)  
\- Violence/Harm (Mentions violent injuries the main character has dealt with in the past, plus side-character is injured badly but is healed immediately)  
\- Gender dysphoria (The main character is a post-transition female-to-male, is on hormones and has had top surgery prior to the start of the story. The story passively mentions his dysphoria, but does not go into great detail or uses it as a plot point. Dysphoria is based off of author's own dysphoria. Please respect this.)

There was something about the hollowness that made it seem like every memory that stood there was invalid, like it had all been for nothing. Where that dark rectangle on the floorboards was was where he had rented his first game at the counter. That nail still stuck in the plaster of the wall was where the mirror hung where he first met Chase, who had come up behind him to tease him about the bow in his hair, only to receive a mock-punch in the stomach, and in exchange Chase gave him a laugh-filled fist bump out of respect for standing up for himself. That plug socket in the wall was where the arcade machine was brought to life, where he and Seán had spent countless hours and too many euros-worth of cents repeatedly dying to pixelated ninjas. That back room was where he had his first kiss, pressed between a wall of unpriced games and the captain of the chess club. He had been a nerd back then. A very pretty nerd.

But now the ugly, patchwork, puke-stained carpet tiles had been pulled up, the shelves ripped from their homes on the walls, that blasted arcade machine retired to the rubbish tip, and everything that Jackie had once held dear suddenly felt invalid. It was never meant to mean anything.

It was dark inside, the glare on the window as the daylight shone brightly on the high street making it hard for Jackie to see much further than his own reflection, but he knew where everything was supposed to be in there. It was his second home, his sanctuary.

Jackie let his hand run across the door handle. It was locked, obviously, but a part of his hoped, deep down, that maybe someone had been lazy, or tired, or clumsy and had forgot to lock it after they finished gutting the building, so maybe Jackie could go inside and comfortingly run his fingers over the plaster, make the shop feel better, feel loved one last time before it died completely. But it was locked.

How long had it been since he last touched this handle? Years. He had been to university since then, graduated with a 2:1 (he blames his ex-boyfriend for being too distracting and too good at sex for his slip in his grades) and moved to Brighton with Seán and Chase. He tried and failed to join his friends in YouTube fame (Chase's 'fame' was questionable; 'memeability' was a more appropriate - and possibly made-up - word) so he worked the night shift at the local McDonald's. And the things he saw during those nights... The knives, the assaults, the drugs, the violence...

Jackie let his hand leave the door handle. Maybe he shouldn't regret moving away. Everything had led from one thing to another, and he wouldn't change anything if it meant that all of those people he had saved during his new night shift job had died. But there was no money in his new job, just thankful crying while clutching his blood-splattered red suit. It didn't help pay the bills. Neither did Chase, so it wasn't fair on Seán to run an apartment-for-three on his own, so Jackie moved back to Ireland.

How long had The Console Kingdom been closed? Had it closed when he left? Or did it only close a day before he returned? Was the 'For Sale' sign on the window, fading in the harsh sunlight, only there to mock him?

He wanted to cry. He wanted to mourn. He wanted to storm into the Mayor's office and demand he reopen the Kingdom. He wanted justice.

Instead, he took his phone out and messaged the group chat.

The Lads  
Marvel Reject: The Kingdom's gone. (12:38)

And that was that.

\---

He didn't start his new day job until Monday. It was Saturday today, so just enough time to reminisce on how much the new retail park on the skirt of town had droughted the local economy. The green grocers, the CD shop, the butcher's: they were all gone. And Jackie probably wasn't helping, scoring a job at the Tesco in the retail park, but to his credit, he only got the job because his uncle was a manager there.

Erin had offered to go with him to town that day, finally some much needed sibling bonding time that the past few years had stripped them of, but Jackie politely refused. It wasn't just university and Brighton; the two of them had felt the riff when Jackie had come out. It had been hard for Erin especially. Twins, identical, but now so far apart, so different. It broke her soul in two, and their attempt at mending it had consisted of a lot of silent passings in the hallways and polite smiles across the dinner table. Coming home now, Jackie still felt the tear. He should have accepted her offer, she should be by his side, laughing like old times, but right now it hurt too much.

Erin was the only one home when he got back from his nostalgia suicide. She froze where she was coming down the stairs Despite Erin being the one wearing a look as if she had seen a phantom, it was Jackie who felt the stab of morbid recognition. That was the face he had killed seven years ago. That was the body he buried. But, he shook it off. No, it was his sister, not 'her'.

The girl on the stairs composed herself and continued to join her brother in the hallway. "You're home earlier than I thought."

Jackie shrugged his coat off, hooking it on the metal rack hanging next to the mirror. Had someone moved it lower, or was he just taller? "Didn't have much to do in town," he admitted. "It's changed. Just shopping stuff, now." He toed his shoes off and pushed them under the radiator. "Kingdom's gone."

Erin nodded, crossing her arms. "Yeah, closed a while ago."

Jackie frowned. "You never told me."

"Not like we talked much anyway." She rolled her shoulders and turned towards the living room. "Kinda a weird way to break the silence."

Jackie didn't reply. Things still felt heavy between the two of them. He hated talking about it, as if mentioning it will trigger it to reoccur, and losing contact with Erin again was the last thing he needed right now. She was the only one back in Ireland who knew about his night job.

Erin didn't stop in the living room, instead moving straight through to the kitchen. The smell of baking wafted into Jackie's nose. "What you making?"

Erin wordlessly reached for the box and held it up over her shoulder for her brother to read. 'Brownies'. She laughed. "I was tempted to make them 'out of this world'-" she gestured the innuendo with her two fingers "- but I thought maybe that might go against your ethics."

Jackie chuckled. "Yeah, a bit." He lent against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "I mean, it's not the worst drug out there."

Turning around slowly, a smirk plastered to her face, Erin stared wickedly at him. "Jack O'Sullivan, have you- innocent, pure, fragile, flower-crown prince of the night- been tempted by the dark side?"

Jackie laughed, leaning forward to push her arm. "Shut up." She pushed his arm back. "I haven't smoked weed."

"Would you, though?"

Jackie glared at her in question. "Have you?"

Erin looked to the ceiling, faux innocence lining her smirk. "Me? No, never!"

Jackie rolled his eyes. Trust his sister to be the one who has friends with green fingers. There again, he was sure if he asked Chase, he could probably score him some bud, not that he's ever tried to or knows anyone who's ever asked him. Just had that gut feeling about his friend.

Speaking of his friends, Jackie pulled out his phone as he sat at the kitchen table. The two boys had replied.

The Lads  
Sperm Donor: Oh shit! (13:02)  
Saggy Ears: Damn, I just felt my child-self whither up and die. (13:16)  
Sperm Donor: Like your dick did ten years ago. (13:17)  
Saggy Ears: Hey! (13:17)

Jackie laughed as he read, imagining the two of them sat at opposite ends of the same sofa, texting instead of talking, all just so they could include him.

Erin sat opposite him, placing two freshly brewed coffees between the two of them. She smiled at her brother's happy face before extending her manicured finger to pull his phone down to read the messages upside-down. "Who's 'Sperm Donor'?" she asked.

Jackie chuckled. "Chase."

Erin's eyes shot open and she covered her mouth. "That's so wrong."

"That's the last thing The Bitch said to him two months ago. Our nicknames at the moment are all insults we hate, just so we can feel better about them."

Erin squinted in confusion, but smiled none-the-less. "And why is Seán 'Saggy Ears'?"

"He's got stretchers in his ears."

Erin gasped again. "No! What has he done? Are they big?"

Jackie shrugged, leaning backwards in his chair, letting his hand pick up his mug and bring it to his mouth. He took a sip before replying. "Big enough to be irreversible."

"Oh no! That was a mistake."

Jackie squinted. "They look cool on him."

Erin glared into her mug. "Yeah, but what's he gonna think when he's forty and he doesn't like them anymore. He will have saggy ears."

Jackie bit the inside of his gum. "Are you against body modifications?"

His sister took a big gulp of her drink, tapping her nails on the table. "I just think some people do things so drastic to their bodies that they'll regret them when they're older. Like, splitting your tongue, or giant tattoos, or-"

"A mastectomy?"

Erin froze, her eyes locked to Jackie's, but as soon as the glisten of tears lined her lids she blinked down and buried her face in her mug. Neither spoke after that. Erin finished the brownies, Jackie ate some, and they both went to their separate rooms. The house was too quiet.

\--

It was a car alarm three streets away to finally convinced him to get out of bed and get changed. It was nearing three in the morning, and laying in bed at this hour felt... wrong. Years of nights spent patrolling the streets of Brighton had tuned his body into being wide away and active at this time of the day, and despite knowing that the little town in Ireland was nothing like a night in England, he still craved the action.

The car alarm from probably nothing. Probably just a cat jumping down from a tree onto the car too hard, but Jackie was glad to be out of the house, at least. He felt out of place in his red hoodie and black joggers, his blue mask shrouding his face. He would have been better wearing some jeans and a button-up, maybe even his farmer cap that his grandfather had passed down to him (God rest his poor, open-minded soul).

No one was out in the streets. No one. It was eerily quiet, and the haunting feeling of being witness to something he shoudn't washed through his veins. It was the sort of sensation he had when he was in primary school, just a wee tot, and it was seven in the evening and his parents were speaking to his teacher, as they did close to the end of every school year, and he and Erin had wandered the dimly lit hallways, abandoned, empty, the draught rustling a crudely drawn picture of a rainbow fluttering half-pinned to the wall sending them running back to their mother and away from the ghost. Thinking about it, the creepiest thing was probably not the imaginary ghost or basic physics, but the two twins wandering the hallways hand-in-hand, identical, wearing blue tartan dresses and dawning pigtails either side of their heads. Now that would have been scary to see.

But he was far from that now, despite the school sitting the other side of the field on his left. Those days of innocence were far behind him. Now, he was a new man, in so many ways. He gave a small, sad smile, clinging to the flicker of pride deep-seated in his chest, then turned to make his way towards town, following the glow of the street lamps.

\--

There was a van parked outside The Console Kingdom. Its lights were on and the back doors were open. The Kingdom itself was illuminated by the dim lights inside. At first, upon seeing the van, Jackie thought maybe this was a robbery, some junkie out to steal the last of the scrap to sell to traders. His blood buzzed, ready for a fight, but the indoor light instantly doused the flame and he settled back into his slouched wander. He was curious, though.

He decided to stand across the row, against the wall of the charity shop opposite The Kingdom. From here, he was far enough away that whoever was inside wouldn't get scared by a looming figure by their van, but close enough that he could see properly inside. Plus, the charity shop had a roof over the entrance, sheltering him from the light drizzle had had begun to trickle from the sky.

For about ten minutes, there was no movement inside. Jackie wondered whether, perhaps, the person inside was in the back, whether they were busy with a task, or maybe they had fallen, had hurt their leg and were crying out for help, no one around to hear their screams. Jackie shook his head. No, that was the cravings talking. The rumble in his blood for adrenaline. He was addicted to the fight, the drama, the rush.

Soon enough, a figure appeared from the back room holding a mug between their hands. Ah, they were making a brew. Jackie laughed to himself; a cup of tea isn't a crisis (unless someone puts the milk in first, and then yes, that was, indeed, a crisis and Jackie had every right to whip out his blue mask and punch the shit out of the blasphemist cunts!) The night owl inside appeared to be male, or at the very least was a very broad-shouldered female - who was Jackie to judge? - and their clothes weren't a work uniform, instead just a pair of grey track-suit bottoms and a blue long-sleeved shirt. So, they didn't seem to be an electrician or plumber hired to continue gutting the place, as if the unmarked van outside wasn't enough evidence to suggest unprofessional intervention.

Their back was to Jackie as they placed the mug onto an opened collapsible workbench, so Jackie let himself be filled with confident curiosity and pulled himself away from the wall to walk closer. He knew it was kinda creepy, to stand here and vouyer on this stranger, but this stranger was standing in his childhood store, the holy ground Jackie worshipped. He had to know what was happening.

Upon closer look, Jackie noticed the long, brown hair pulled up into a messy bun. So, a female wasn't off the table, then? But the more he looked, the more images of Harry Styles- no, even better, Sebastian Stan filled his mind, and now his heart flipped with the small flicker of hope that maybe this was Mr. Bucky Barnes himself stood in the middle of his Kingdom.

The person was looking down at their workbench, arm swaying as their hand moved rapidly, perhaps drawing something on paper, and every few moments their head would pop up, much like a meerkat, to look around at the layout of the room. So, maybe they were making a floorplan.

Jackie's eyes widened at the realisation. Floor plans? As in, a plan for the floor? Where the new arcades would go. Where the prize corner would be. A home for the desk in the corner, the shelves of games towering along the walls, and oh so many lifesize cardboard cutouts of characters. His mouth watered. The Console Kingdom 2.0.

The person inside looked up again, their head whipping side to side. Their shoulders jumped, their feet bounced, and Jackie could feel the excitement radiate from them. Their arms raised to their chest as they giggled, the sound echoing in the hollow of the room and escaping through the glass to Jackie. With their breathe shuddering, they turned to face the opposite side of the room, and their blinding, wide grin lasted only a second before it morphed into a scream. He - it was a he, definitely a he - flung his arms over his face as he stepped backward, colliding with the table, sending it, his tea and himself crashing to the ground. Jackie watched, shocked, then guilty, and then, still just as guilty, into laughter.

The man lay frozen on the collapsed table for a few moments as Jackie turned away to double over and control his laughter. He had just caused someone to get hurt, he shouldn't be laughing this much. By the time Jackie had composed himself, straining through the tears, he looked back towards the man to find him scurrying into the back room. Oh no, he was scared of him.

All the laughter drained from Jackie. He hadn't meant to scare the man. He wanted to apologise, to explain that he meant no harm, but how was he supposed to do that without scaring him further. For god's sake, he was wearing a mask; the poor man was probably replaying scenes from The Purge in his head right now as he quivered in the backroom, clutching his phone and whispering to the 999 operat--

Jackie needed to leave. If there was a chance that this man would call the police on him, he had to leave before they showed up. He felt guilty, for scaring the man, for not being able to apologise, for making the man scared to work at night ever again. But he couldn't do anything about it. With a sigh, he turned and continued to walk further into town. He would have to forget about this man and continue with his work.

\--

He had woken up just after lunch. This was usual for him, and he was glad to have been able to sleep soundly. Nothing happened last night, and the closest thing to a threat to be roaming the streets was himself. He had walked past a couple of homeless people curled up in a doorway, and two teens were sat talking on the swings of the play-park smoking cigarettes (a quick ID showed they were both eighteen, and they were both more interested in taking photos of Jackie to spread online than acting their age, so Jackie left without much conflict.)

He woke up to the smell of curry wafting through the house. Erin had mentioned the other day about making a jalfrezi. He rolled out of bed, cracking his shoulders before pulling his shirt from yesterday over his head. He loved sleeping topless. There was such freedom about not caring if people saw his chest. So much less paranoing that how it used to be.

Erin was sat at the counter finishing up a bowl of curry. She nodded as her brother entered the kitchen. "I left you some."

Jackie glanced to the pans sat simmering on the stove. "You left some for the whole street."

Erin shrugged. "You have a big apatite." Which was strange to Jackie, because since living in England and living with one man who ate everything around him like his stomach was a hoover, and another who would forget to eat due to being so busy making videos all the time, Jackie's own diet had simmered down from his hunger-fueled puberty years to reflect the lessons learnt from his two friends. He ate regularly, but kept his portions small, favouring veggies over fatty foods, often skipping out on takeaway nights to make himself some Quorn and mushroom pasta, or chicken sushi. It was little things like this, Erin's statement, that reminded Jackie just how out of touch the two twins were.

He decided not to comment on it, instead spooning himself a respectable portion of rice and curry, then took a seat across from his sister. Her cooking wasn't too bad. Better than Seán and Chase's, at least.

\--

There were more vans parked outside today. Some were local businesses: carpenters, plumbers, electricians. Workers moved in and out the front door like ants, carrying planks of wood, and tool kits, and pipes into the building.

Jackie stood in the doorway of the charity shop watching curiously. He still couldn't tell what was going on. Nothing coming out of the vans suggested anything other than general renovation. No furniture, no artwork, no stock.

It would be The Console Kingdom 2.0. But it could also be a little shop. Or it could be a clothes retailer. Or it could be an after-school tutoring centre. Or it could be a coffee shop.

Jackie shuddered. God no, imagine! The Kingdom, stripped bare and violated by hipsters and screenwriters, their tartan jackets and thick beards, their rimmed glasses and sticker-slapped laptops.

God, anything but a coffee shop!

Jackie shook his head. It probably wasn't going to be a coffee shop. This was hardly the town for one. There wasn't a university nearby, nor a place of real culture. A tea parlor was better suited for this small town rather than a coffee shop.

\---

He tried to forget about it. Nothing happened the rest of the day. Nothing happened during his night patrol, and by the time he rolled out of bed the next day, shrugging his new Tesco uniform on after a quick shower, he had forgotten about the renovations.

His first shift was not what he had expected. It was October, so the shop was getting ready with all their Christmas stock. Wrapping paper and tinsel, kids toys and shower gel sets, fluffy socks and fine wines. They piled up in metal cages in the stock room, glittering red, white and green, and Jackie marvelled at how insane it was. Christmas in October!

A voice appeared from behind. "Some of it's been there since August." Jackie turned to find a man, probably around his age, lent up against a cage with a clipboard in his hands. The nametag on his chest was scratched and scruffed, so much so that Jackie couldn't make out the name. He felt rude to ask.

"When did the Halloween stuff come in?" Jackie asked out of curiosity. He had saw them as he had walked in three hours earlier, lining the enterance with costumes and makeup, and it was the only chance he got to see the shop floor before he was designated to sorting the stock room with three other employees. There was Mr. No-Name, and the other two were older than himself: a lady probably in her sixties named Cara, and a man in his fourties named Finn. The look they had both given him when their manager had introduced Jackie to them gave him the impression that the two of them, and probably No-Name as well, spent all their time working the stock room and that he was intruding on the status quo by being here. Cara had begrudgingly volunteered to be his guide, so she was the one he asked his questions to, although he had been hoping silently that maybe he could start some small-talk with No-Name. They could be friends; the sour expression on No-Name's face seemed to suggest otherwise.

The young man lent against the cages rolled his eyes, less-so at Jackie and more-so at the store as a whole. "Literally a week before they went upstairs. They spend all their energy focusing on Christmas, they get to the start of October and suddenly realise there's another holiday first."

Jackie chuckled. "You'd think, being Ireland and all, they're be more hyped about the holiday we created."

The man shrugged. "Tesco don't care about Ireland. They care about money."

So, maybe there was a glimmer of friendship between them. Maybe it was one filled with pessimism and sarcasm, whereas Jackie rathered he be optimistic and happy, but he had realised early on in life that sometimes to please people you have to bend to them, instead of expecting them to bend to you. They tell you to never change for anyone, but that seemed a bit pointless. You can learn a lot about yourself if you let others influence you. What was that song from that musical about the Wicked Witch? The one about change and friendship? Well, it didn't matter. No-Name didn't seem like one for theatre.

His shift dragged on. Cara helped him through pulling cages and taking stock notes, and by the time he went on his break, choosing to eat his sandwich out back in the smoking area instead of in the messy, overcrowded stock room, he found that No-Name had sneaked in a cigarette break. He offered Jackie one as he sat down a respectable distance away, which Jackie politely declined.

"You ready to kill yourself yet?" the man asked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

Jackie chuckled, mentally scrowlling, because suicide was not a funny joke, and shrugged. "It doesn't seem too bad."

The man huffed a laugh. "You wait until you've been doing it for three years."

And that made Jackie think, because damn, was he really going to be doing this sort of thing for three years? He had been to law school, spent all those hours crying in the library, stressing over exams, cursing himself for having sex instead of studying. Had all of it had been for nothing? He hadn't scored a job at a firm, wasn't on his way to becoming a barrister, even a solicitor. If only his night job had money in it. If only there was a way.

The man lent his head back to rest against the wall behind him. "You like those two clowns downstairs?"

"Cara and Finn?"

The man let out a puff of thick air. "They drive me insane. Cara won't stop calling me Abél."

Jackie frowned. "She keeps calling me 'dear'."

The man smirked. "Well, what would you rather be called, dear?"

Jackie shuddered. "Anything but that."

The man raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "Bro? Mate? Lad?"

Jackie shrugged. "That's closer to the truth."

The man was silent for a second, taking a few drags as his eyes darted around Jackie's features, analysing and thinking with a questioning glare, making Jackie too conscious about how loud he was chewing his sandwich, and questioning whether leftover jalfrezi was too weird of a filler to be bringing into work between two slices of bread. After stubbing the butt of his cigarette against the ash-stained brick wall, the man finally broke the silence. "So, Jackie isn't short for Jaquelin?"

Jackie coughed. "No."

"So, it's just..." The man stopped to think. "It's long for Jack?"

Jackie gave a small huff through his nose. "Yeah, I guess it's long for Jack."

The man smirked. "You like the name Jackie?"

Part of Jackie didn't want to be having this conversation. It felt too intimate for a first time meeting. Sure, he had ran into quite a few people who had outright asked him about his name and pronouns upon meeting him, and most of the time he found them to be the most rude, whereas those who became his friends would usually bring it up after a month or so of knowing each other. He wanted to get to know this man, wanted to like him, despite his glares and his bluntness. It was a sort of edginess he had been missing during university, with Seán being a bundle of sunshine and warmth, and Chase being full of laughter and, later, someone who needed Jackie's guidance. Jackie craved having someone in his life who he could disagree with, yet still be friends with. Sure, he was riding the fine line between friendship and toxicity, but it interested him to no end, and if he was going to be working in the same stock room as his man, the why not pursue a friendship?

Jackie thought about his question, and with a smirk replied, "Do you like the name Abél?"

The man narrowed his eyebrows in a glare. "Not you, too. I swear to god, if you and Cara team up against me..."

Jackie laughed. "Part of me was going to ask for your real name, but nah, I'm just gonna call you Abél."

The man pouted his lips, and Jackie was aware of how easily he could just open those lips and speak his real name, tell Jackie what he preferred to be called, but his lips stayed pressed tightly together.

"Abél," Jackie teases again, before shoving the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth.

Abél stood up, and as he walked past Jackie to get back inside, he let his hand swinging at his side gentle slap Jackie's temple. To anyone else, it could have been seen as a threat, an act of violence that could be reported and have had Abél fired, but Jackie didn't see it that way. He rubbed his head and shot Abél a glare mixed in with his laughter, and for the last split second before Abél's face had completely disappeared behind the door, Jackie swore he saw the glare in his eyes morph into something more light-hearted, something more affectionate.

Maybe he and Abél could be friends after all.

\--

He had clocked out twenty minutes ago, but had only just walked through the doors to go outside. He thought maybe he could catch Abél on his way out, maybe say a friendly goodbye, let him know that he intended to continue talking to each other during their shifts together, but Abél was gone. He checked the smoking area, the staff room, even down the shopping isles, just in case the man was doing a quick shop before he went home, but no, Abél was gone.

Outside, Jackie took his phone out and opened the group chat as he walked home through town.

The Lads  
Marvel Reject: Work was weird. (20:52)  
Saggy Ears: Weird how? Creepy coworker? (20:57)  
Sperm Donor: You get hit on by Mrs. Patrickson? (20:57)

Jackie shuddered.

The Lads  
Marvel Reject: She died two years ago, bro. (20:58)  
Sperm Donor: Still, her ghost could have been hitting on you. (21:02)  
Marvel Reject: I don't even wanna think about that. (21:03)  
Saggy Ears: *Ghost gif* (21:05)  
Marvel Reject: Met a guy, he's weird. Kinda edgy. (21:05)  
Saggy Ears: Like, heavy metal and razor blades? (21:06)  
Marvel Reject: Nah, more like dank memes and tattoos. Probably tags trains on his days off. (21:08)  
Saggy Ears: Sounds like trouble. (21:10)  
Sperm Donor: You asked him on a date yet? (21:10)  
Saggy Ears: Chase, dude! (21:10)  
Sperm Donor: He sounds hot. (21:11)  
Saggy Ears: You're not even into dudes. (21:11)

Jackie pocketed his phone. The two of his friends were at it again, off in their own little world. Anyway, it was dark on the street, and blinding himself with his phone screen wasn't going to help him see where he was going. He may have extraordinary abilities - he was still unsure how and why he had them - but night vision was sadly not one of them. Anyway, he doubted anything the two of them said had any true importance right now.

Looking around to clock where he was, Jackie's chest leapt and he thanked himself silently for choosing that moment to lock his phone. To his right was a new building. This wasn't here before. The two buildings either side had been pushed aside by some magic, like in the Harry Potter film, and this new building had sprouted in the space between. It stood out between the bland estate agents and the dull travel agents, it's dark oak rustic appearance and glow of candle light warm inside.

This was strange, like a dream, and Jackie had to pinch himself to make sure. But no, this was real, and it was only when he noticed the grid outside in the pavement, the one with three squares that he had mentally mapped out to avoid treading on, fearing seven years bad luck, that he realised what this building was.

It was The Kingdom.

No, he realised, it was not The Kingdom. The Kingdom had it's name, it's full name, splashed across the header above the window in a faded seventies font with a crude picture of Pac-Man and a Space Invader either side of the words. This building didn't have that. Instead, carved out of the same dark oak, were wooden letters, 3D away from the lighter wood background, spelling out something new, something terrifying. 'Catuccino'.

A fucking coffee shop.

\--

It wasn't open for business yet, but the door was unlocked, so under the guise of being a friendly local welcoming the new business, Jackie let himself in, the wind-chimes on the door clinking together to echo throughout the half-filled room. Hopefully the owner heard him enter.

The room looked different, nothing like The Kingdom he had grew up in. He tried to mentally map out where everything used to be: the counter was here- no, that table there is at the wrong angle for it, but the arcade cabinet was in that corner- wait, why was there a bar here instead? The more he tried, the more he seemed for forget how it had look, like when he spent too long adding filters to his Instagram photos that soon he forgets the original colour and shadow gradient and going back seems too fake, now that he had accepted this new, edited version.

It was obvious that this new business wasn't completely finished yet. One table, missing it's seats - judging by the table on Jackie's right as he walked in, was probably a booth instead of chairs or stools - had a pile of the dark wood on it, all shaped and curved, ready to be pieced together into... whatever it was supposed to be. At this point, Jackie had no idea. Interior design wasn't his forte. He did rugby and football, and he used to free-run with Chase before he became a dad, so Jackie was far from being in touch with his feminine side--

Stop! He snapped that thought away quickly. Fuck his brain!

He gave a sniff, enraged at himself, roughly blinking away the turmoil that thought had brought to his mind. Movement from the back room made him look up, distracting him effectively, to see as a curious face pop around the door frame. Curious in two ways: firstly, the owner of said face was curious about who had entered, because surely the intruder would have read the 'closed' sign on the door, and curious because secondly, the face itself was a thing to be curious of.

Jackie felt his head cock to the side as he pondered, which he felt a pang of guilt for letting it fall so easily as the lol could have been interpreted as rude. It was a man- the man from last night, his long, dark hair falling behind the mask he had perched on his nose. It was dark blue, decorated with silver checkered lines with small plastic pearls at every point the lines met. And protruding from above each eye hole were two triangles, and Jackie made the connection with the sign outside instantly: a cat.

The man, upon seeing Jackie was no threat, not a masked burgled or thuggish youth, stepped out from behind the door frame and into the front of the store. He smiled the same beaming smile he had last night, yet this time it seemed more forced. There again, Jackie concluded in his mind, last night's smile was full of excitement and creativity, whereas now was probably filled with anxiety and hospitality.

"Hi," the man spoke, and it surprised Jackie how loud it was. He had expected something timid, something reserved and held-back, but the volume the man radiated made him smile. He wasn't flamboyant or erratic like Chase, or beaming and confident like Seán, but instead he had his own brand of loud, almost like he wasn't aware of the volume, as if he was wearing ear phones and was trying to talk at a normal level.

Jackie gave a small chuckle. "Hey." He raised a hand in a small wave as well, taking a step towards the man; the distance between them for a conversation like this was a bit too far for Jackie's liking. He let his head glance around the room, perhaps over-exaggerated, and said, "Looking good." It was a half-truth. It was, in deed, looking good. Jackie could appreciate the aesthetics, and honestly if the Catuccino had opened in any other building in town, then maybe the appearance alone would have been enough to intrigue Jackie into possibly purchases a coffee there, just to enjoy the rustic feel. Any other building, and he would have been fine. But this was The Kingdom, this was his childhood, and this man was messing with the wrong, clingy man-child.

The man gave another smile - god, his smile was like the Cheshire Cat, all teeth, blinding and wide - and he copied Jackie's movement as he closed the distance between the two further to lean against the bar counter a metre or so away from his friendly intruder. "We're getting there. Been working all day and the past two nights to get it to this point - God, I have no slept in so long! Probably have another day of decorating, then a day of stocking up before we can open. I've got so many things to move. All the beans, all the mugs- the syrups! God, I need to order them tonight! And then I have to get ready for when we open. Should I do specials? Offers? Loyalty vouchers? I'm thinking maybe Thursday, but then Thursday is a weird day for a grand opening, so maybe Friday."

Jackie found himself smiling, because God, did this man like to talk. It was like there was no filter between his mind and his mouth, and not the same kind that Chase and Seán seemed to lack. (Half the shit the two of them seemed to come out with sometimes made Jackie question whether they were both completely sane, or whether the entirety of the male sex were really that stupid, and that maybe he was lucky to be born with a female brain, which is the only thing he would ever be thankful for in terms of that divine mistake.)

Jackie was quick to interrupt the man, but it didn't feel like a interrupt, more as if he was continuing the same train of thought. "Friday is a better day because people are lazier on Friday and would rather buy a coffee to work than make their own in the morning." He had realised that working the night shifts at McDonald's. There was always more people at the end of a business week, when breakfast was being served right before he clocked out to go home. People got lazy, but the problem was everyone was lazy at the same time, so waiting in a queue for your breakfast while watching the minutes countdown until you're inevitably late for work made a lot of people very angry. Jackie was surprised he hadn't got fired for suggesting to customers to invest in breakfast bars or tiny chocolate chip brioche breads instead of going to McDonald's for breakfast.

The man across from him lit up, his eyes behind the mask widening as his smile grew. "Yes," he exclaimed, "you're right! That's amazing! People will come in and get their hassel-free coffee, fall in love with the flavour, then will surely come back for more!" The man pulled away from the counter he was leaning on to bring his hands to his chest, bouncing on his feet as he swayed from side-to-side in a fit of glee.

This was the man from last night, no doubt about it. Even if by some coincidence that there was another set of identical twin siblings in this town and it was his twin brother Jackie had scared last night, there was no way that a twin could replicate such pure radiant energy from excitement like this. This sort of thing was not possible to code in DNA, no matter how much adrenaline and dopamine you pump into someone's brain.

This was the man he had scared. He wanted to say sorry, he really did, but he knew that doing so would reveal to this stranger that the man stalking the streets at night looking to fight crime was him, and despite no one in the town knowing yet about their secret hero watching over them, they would soon realise, surely they would notice him soon enough, and Jackie didn't need the stress of worrying about people revealing his identity, especially baristas who seemed to not know when to stop talking once he started.

He had only a brief moment to think this thought before his eyes widened and he found himself wrapped in the arms of this man. He clung to Jackie, arms around his arms, trapping him in a firm grip as he jumped up and down, forcing Jackie to jump alongside him to avoid friction burns on his arms from the pressure.

He stopped a moment later, hurriedly letting go of his guest, stepping back with a look of horror on his face. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" His hands were out between them, his eyes raking his body, as if looking for damage. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry! I just got excited, and this is all too much, and you're the first person I've properly spoke to about this, and-"

Jackie could feel the smile stab the corner of his lips as the man rambles, but he found himself laughing, reaching a hand out to place solidly on his companion's arm. "Look, it's okay."

The man blushed. "I'm sorry, I just haven't been able to speak to anyone about it in person before, and you seem enthusiastic about my project-"

Jackie squinted to himself. Since when had he gone from being fueled with nostalgic rage to suddenly caring about this business owner's happiness?

"- and I just got a bit too excited. I'm sorry."

Jackie, who's hand still lay on the other man's shoulder, rubbed it comfortingly. "Stop saying sorry."

"Sorry."

Jackie raised an eyebrow with a smirk, and the man giggled, bowing his blushing face and hiding it behind his sleeves.

Jackie took this time to finally introduce himself; calling him 'the man' in his head was starting to hurt. He moved his hand from his shoulder and held it out for him to shake. "I'm Jackie."

The man took it firmly in his own hand, that was poking out from his sleeve. "Marvin."

Jackie snickered. "What kind of name is Marvin?"

Marvin retreated his hand, bringing it up to play with the bun on-top of his head. "What kind of name is Jackie?"

Jackie smiled for a second, watching the glimmer in Marvin's eyes as the edge of a smirk traced his lips. Jackie laughed. "It's long for Jack."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I might write more chapters if I self-isolate from COVID-19... Lucky for you guys, I guess!
> 
> I'll try and update soon!

There was a crack at the edge of the mirror. He wasn't too sure how it had got there, since there was no way of knocking the heavy frame without it coming completely off the wall, but there it was, creeping up from the bottom left corner. To be perfectly honest, he hadn't noticed it. It was his associate that had pointed it out.

"You've broken your mirror."

He lent back against the table in front of the glass portal, eyes roaming it. "No I haven't. It wouldn't be working if it was broken."

"The signal is glitching" - his associate huffed in a deep sigh - "and for once it's not you causing it."

He smirked. It was his trademark, after all.

But the thought of his mirror being damaged worried him. It had never done this before. In the years, millenniums since he'd been on Earth, not once had his mirror took damage. Sure, he was clumsy at times, and one or two fights to the death had taken place in proximity to the portal, but never had it even seen a scratch. Hell, even dust couldn't settle on it without burning to a crisp upon impact. It didn't make sense.

But the more he looks, the longer he tore his eyes away from the black voids peering from the mirror at him, the more he began to notice the change. The crack, stretching like ice on a windowpane.

He glared at the offending crack. "No idea how it got damaged," he admitted.

His associate cracked his neck, the sound sending sparks of red and blue from his shadows, seeping through the glass to land on his floor, erupting into small flames that singed the carpet before vanishing into small pits of smoke.

He glared at the associate in the mirror. "Personally, I blame you. You're the one who has the ability to travel through the mirrors." He scrunched his nose. "They never offered me that upgrade."

His associate chuckled, the deep tones vibrating the glass. "They're lucky they ever gave you a communication device at all. The trouble you've caused the embassy-"

"Trouble which wasn't my fault, by the way." He jabbed a finger at the figure in the mirror.

The figure laughed. "You cause nothing but trouble." But, as soon as it had appeared, the humour in his face dropped. "Anti, you need to sort this out. You can't have a broken mirror."

Anti lent back against his desk, his bare toes curling on the carpet. "Why do you suddenly care?"

"I don't."

"You don't care about anything but yourself," Anti hissed. It was true, though. In the years he had known him, the figure before him had been no friend. They shared quips and insults, but never worries and woes. There was no trust to be had between the two, and despite the millennias of working together, he knew too well than to think of him more than an associate. Friendship was a deadly thing, something he knew would cost more than his life if he was to ever make a valid friend in this world, or any world, for that matter.

Somewhere beyond the void, a pair of voices glitched through. At first, the figure in the mirror didn't react, but then his eyes closed shut as he breathed in sharply, as if to compose himself, before he snorted the breath out with a crack of his neck. "I have to go."

"Aww, has Mummy called you down for dinner?" The glare he received for his quip was sharp, and the chill that ran up his spine was involuntary, sending spasms down his arms. It took all he had to not show his sudden fear, channeling all the energy into his fingernails as they dug into the mahogany desk he was perched on. The wood shavings curled into ribbons as his nails scraped across. He was sure his associate would have something to say about his disrespect to such a beautiful piece of furniture, but he had never cared for it. He wasn't even sure why he had it. Maybe once upon a time, way back when he had been in the mindset to impress his new colleague, he had bought it in pride, but that was years ago, and he would soon rather convince himself his memory was corrupted than confess the truth in it.

The figure straightened his tie and gave another snort through his nose. "We shall talk soon."

"How soon this time? Last time you said that, you were gone three decades."

"Anti-"

He was surprised he had managed to make his associate stop his train of thought. He has mustered up as much energy as he could into his scowl, and before today it had never seemed to affect his companion. Others, yes, it worked very well, so much so that Anti had selected it as his go-to move when he wanted to intimidate his prey during the hunt. The surprise of its sudden effectiveness of the usually unphased beast made the edges of his grin faulter.

The demon must have noticed. He grinned in return. "Stop smiling like that. I'm not surprised your mirror is cracked with a face like that." And then he hung up.

The empty void became a reflection once more, and Anti had the perspective to see the look on his face in response to that last quip. His agape mouth scowled and his glare hardened. "Fucker," he whispered to himself.

He finally uncoiled his fingernails from the ridges in the wooden desk and pushed himself away to cross the room. In the corner of his office, Ash was chewing on a bone, lapping at the last scraps of flesh still stringing across with their tongue. Anti tried to remember what part of Mr. Jenkins it was, whether he had given Ash his forearm or his thigh. The blood has stained Ash's white fur, and the cyan carpet has become a dark shade of brown.

Anti rolled his eyes. "You've stained the carpet again, babs," he cooed, leaning down a hand as he passed them, his fingers curling as green flecks of static erupted from his palm. Ash looked up at their master, leaning in to receive a headpat, only to pull away with a look of disgust as Anti's hand pulled back up before contact, and a river of blood removed itself from the carpet to float in the air. The liquid swirled around, yet it didn't act like liquid. It hung in the air in fractles, sharp stabs of ice, razor-edged and deadly. If Ash had half the mindset of a human, they would be scared for their master's ability to bend blood in this way, sharp needles stabbing his prey from the inside-out, but Ash didn't care. Ash was just a dog. But Ash did care about headpats.

Anti spared a glance away from his red icicle to look at the white beast, who was moping like a toddler in the corner. "Headpat slut," Anti whispered, before curling his fists and sending the suspended blood hurtling across the room into the open jar he had sitting on his shelf. It sloshed in, shaking the jar into the jar with the cat skull, which, in turn, shook the next jar along: a decaying heart of a kraken.

Anti watched the jars clatter, and a thought occured to him. Maybe he was clumsy. Maybe it was by his own negligence that he cracked his mirror. Maybe his careless chaos was actually causing more destruction than he intended.

He laughed. Of course not! He was a demon: this was his job! His laughter made Ash rise their head again, studying their master with a cautious stare.

Anti turned to face his reflection, his glinting outline glowing in the dark office, and gave himself a smile. "I'm fine," he told himself, jutting a hip out to rest against the desk again. "The embassy won't find out about it."

The crack shimmered green. It was fine. Probably.

\---

The sun had just risen, and Jackie wanted nothing more than to slump down in bed and fall asleep. For the past couple of days, nothing had been happening during his night patrols. Last night, the most interesting thing to happen was that Jackie twisted his ankle while crossing a road, cause he didn't think to look where the pavement ended before stepping out. But even then, his ability to heal came in quite handy, so the event became nothing more than slight disturbance of his equilibrium, as insignificant as if he had simply coughed.

As he took his red hoodie off over his head, his eyes fell onto his messy bed. It looked slept in, but Jackie knew too well. The last time he had been under those covers was three days ago; the past few days, the sofa downstairs became his saving grace from the agony of climbing the single flight of stairs to his room. Truth be told, it was moreso to not wake Erin, as the floorboards on the stairs seemed to have a revenge against Jackie and his heavy footsteps.

The sheets looked so inviting, cosy and warm, a much needed comfort after the rain and chill of last night, but Jackie had more important business today.

He threw open his wardrobe, grabbing for his baggy university hoodie. It was a few years old, tattered at the sleeves, but it was his favourite hoodie. He purposely bought it two-sizes-too-big, partly out of habit after years of wearing baggy clothes to hide his figure, and partly because he wanted a snuggle hoodie, something he can just throw on and half-lay/half-sit on the sofa with Seán and Chase, greasy pizza dripping and staining his clothes, without a care in the world. His favourite comfort hoodie was exactly what he needed today, if sleeping wasn't an option.

He eyed the hoodie in his hands. The comfort irradiated through his fingertips where he held it, but he pouted his lips and huffed. No, this wouldn't do. He would give anything to be able to lounge around with this hoodie on, but today was not the day. He needed something smarter, something more formal, something that didn't have a permanent food stain across the front of it.

It took him ten minutes longer than he felt was necessary, but in the end he felt sure of himself as he turned in the mirror, checking out his outfit. Black skinny jeans, a red tartan button-up, and his favourite battered, black Vans. Along with his black jacket downstairs, he would look good. Maybe not great - hipster was definitely not his usual style - but he looked a damn lot better than he had before.

He wasn't too sure why he wanted to look nice. Yes, he had made a friend at the Catuccino, but he clearly wasn't the sort that needed impressing. Jackie could probably admit to Marvin that he could burp the alphabet and Marvin would probably glow in awe and fuss about how amazing he was. It was kind of an ego boost, Jackie confessed to himself silently, but he thought he'd let himself soak up the validation while he could. Marvin would soon grow tired of him, certainly, and not to mention that Jackie couldn't get too close to the excitable boy; he didn't know what he might let slip, but certainly his alter-ego was something he never wanted Marvin to know about.

He wasn't trying to impress Marvin with his good looks, certainly. Maybe he was trying to impress Marvin's customers? It was a 'grand opening', after all. He should look smart. But why bother? He didn't own the coffee shop- hell, he didn't even work there!

Then Jackie realised, a grave sense of dread and guilt washing over him. That was it! This certainly was a special occasion, one in which he should dress up for. It was the funeral of The Console Kingdom. The Kingdom was to be buried, and a thousand feet of hipsters were to dance upon its grave, spilling coffee instead of booze onto the freshly turned soil, singing praise to the Catuccino while forgetting the ghost of the childhood play-haven that solely Jackie will be mourning.

Jackie bit the inside of his cheek. That damn Marvin, making him forget his childish spite again. He had half a mind to ditch the opening altogether, crawl up into bed and dream about kicking Chase's arse at Mortal Kombat, but he pushed the spite aside. No, he was going to go. Marvin would a nice guy, clearly new to town, and he needed a friend. He needed to help Marvin. That's what heroes do: help people, and Jackie was damn sure he was going to be the best damn hero this side of the damn Irish Sea. (Which wouldn't be hard, truly. How many Irish heroes are there? Captain Ireland? Guinness Man? The Incredible Spud?)

He glanced at the time on his phone; he was going to be late if he didn't get a move on soon. He swandered out of his room and down the stairs, throwing on his jacket and shoes in a hurry. As he unlatched the front door, a voice rang through the hallway from the kitchen  
"You're out early."

Jackie closed the door to and poked his head into the kitchen. Erin was sat at the kitchen table, engrossed in a bowl of cereal and her phone. She was up early, also. "Shouldn't you be asleep," he asked her.

Erin gave a sharp laugh. "Shouldn't you? When was the last time you slept?"

Jackie ignored her. "Why are you awake? You're not in work until eleven."

"And you're not in work until three." _Damn_, Jackie thought, _damn that calendar in the hallway marked with out shift schedules._

Erin finally spared a glance up at her brother. "You got a date?"

Jackie pulled a tongue at her. "No." He smirked. "Have you?"

Erin only had to look at him, a glint in her eye, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Jackie heaved over, dramatic as ever, and pretended to throw up into his palms. "Ewww," he joked, "boys! Disgusting!"

Erin picked up the kitchen roll that had been peacefully sat on the counter near her and threw it violently at her brother, shouting, "Hypocrite."

Jackie whacked the roll in the air, his knuckles connecting with the sheets, and his senses noted the soft material, the ridges of the pattern engraved across the top, and it fogged his mind for a second. These powers of his did have a habit of manifesting in the weirdest of ways. His hyper awareness of the texture of the kitchen roll made his eyes black out, slowly from the edges, sleeking in until only a white cylinder remained in his vision, all-consuming and incaptive. The crisp sound of the tense skin over his finger bones cracking against the fibres as they moulded around, a flop of waves, like a drone of dropped base, pulling him underwater and down into an endless floating serenity. He stayed there, defying gravity, letting his toes curl up under his, his weight evaporating, and he smiled. He liked this. He liked this a lot. He could fall asleep like this, or maybe die like this, and he would be happy. Truly, he would be.

His eyes snapped open, and he barely caught the moment when Erin's grin snapped into shock as the kitchen roll plummeted full-speed into her face. The force of it sent her flying, her head snapping backwards as her body tumbled over the back of the stool she sat on and she fell with a crash onto the tiled floor.

It was quiet for a moment as they both froze in shock. Jackie could see his sister's face from where he stood. She was laying on her back, face staring at the ceiling, and for a second Jackie was concerned by her lack of movement, her lack of sound. Jesus Christ, was she dead? He took a step towards her.

Erin's eyes closed slowly as she took a slow, shaking breath in. She held it for a moment before she let it out, slowly through her pursed lips, letting her muscles relax as she calmed herself. "Jackie," she whispered without opening her eyes, "help."

Jackie paced across the room and fell to his knees beside her. "Holy shit," he whispered, panicked, "I'm so sorry!"

Erin opened her eyes to look at him. She was still panicked, the shock still not shaken, but her composure and calmness was something to marvel at; Jackie did, in fact, marvel at her. He wished he had this sort of level-headedness. If their positions were swapped and it was he who had been injured, he would be screaming and cursing overdramatically, partly out of sheer pain, and partly to taunt Erin with guilt. He was petty and spiteful like that.

He placed a hand on his sister's shoulder and leaned over her. "Can you move?"

Erin scoffed. "I don't wanna find out, Jack. Just heal me and get over it."

And wow, Jackie had forgot how blunt she was, too. But she was right, he shouldn't be fussing over her injuries and instead should just heal them. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner?

The hand on her shoulder moved to her forehead, and he felt his fingers tingle as the energy crawled out of his heart, down the length of his arm, and warmed his palm. Erin closed her eyes and sighed deeply. A chuckle caught in her throat. "That feels nice," she whispered, barely audible.

Jackie let his fingers sweep across her forehead to move her hair out of her face. "Yeah, I've heard it is."

He didn't know why, but healing himself felt different. Healing others was tingly and soothing, a similar sensation as those times he had used heat-rub cream to help sooth the stabbing pains in his lower abdomen before medical intervention managed to free him from the cursed time of the month. The feeling was deep, a burning just this side of pleasant, a kind of masochistic pressure on every nerve ending that made anyone he healed feel in deep serenity. Chase had once joked that he should open a massage parlor and just use his healing powers on paying customers, but Jackie had refused. People with these sort of abilities were sort after by many people, from faith worshippers, the terminally ill, and the secret services alike. If he attached the wrong attention, his life could be in danger. He could become a slave, be experimented on, or simply become famous. He had to hide. He had to stay quiet.

However his healing affected others, it was nothing in comparison to the pain it caused himself. If healing others felt like heat-rub cream, then healing himself was every pure element used in making said cream: fire that boiled his blood, flames that licked at his skin, smoke that constricted every vessel, every organ in his torso, squeezing and pinching and stabbing and tearing each and every fibre of his being. He would usually save healing himself for right before going to bed, after all the crime-fighting and bloodshed had ended. He wished he could be like the comic book heroes who simply healed as they went along, taking a blow, healing while snarking a quip at the villain, and then, newly healed body ready for action again, counterattack with the strength and agility of whatever animal they happened to be named after, whether it was spider, bird of prey or panther.

But Jackie didn't have the luxury of being soothed by healing. He had to grit his teeth and feel every bone resetting, every cell dividing to recreate the once-torn skin, the palpatations as his heart went from pumping four litres to six litres in matter of seconds as he made back up his lost blood. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but he knew he had to rip the plaster off. It was either two minutes of torture, or six weeks of wearing casts and limping. And god forbid, if her every came home battered and broken and Erin saw him.

He remembered the look on Seán's face when he came home pre-healing one night after a knife attack. He had thought the boys were asleep. Seán had dropped his mug of freshly brewed coffee onto the table when he saw Jackie, and Jackie let him play mother as he helped Jackie into the bathtub and helped him clean his wounds. It didn't make a difference whether the cuts were cleaned or not, the healing took care of it all either way, but he thought he owed that to Seán, for letting him see him that way, for letting him worry about whether Jackie would survive the night, for letting him worry whether Jackie would come home every other night he patrolled. Seán had insisted on patching him up, even though they would be wasted plasters once Jackie worked himself up into the painful healing process, and after arguing about whether a trip to A&E was necessary, Seán had tucked Jackie up in bed and lay down beside him. They never really shared a bed before, or after either, but Jackie owed Seán for his kindness, and Seán's peace of mind knowing Jackie was safe was a suitable payment for his golden heart tonight. (And if Seán came home the next day after visiting his friend Felix to find a cupcake on his nightstand with his favourite flavour icing coating the top, then Jackie would admit knowing nothing and would blame it on the leprechauns.)

Maybe he should buy Erin a cupcake to say sorry. It wasn't his fault that his powers sometimes became wild and instinctual, acting on their own to cause chaos.

Jackie only moved his hand away from Erin's forehead when she opened her eyes just a slither, too relaxed to awaken fully. She dazedly looked up at her brother and gave a soft smile. "Thanks a million," she breathed, and Jackie finaly let go of the breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

He swivelled his legs to sit with them crossed as he helped Erin raise up. She still seemed weak, holding her weight on her arms rather than using her back muscles to pull herself up, but Jackie hoped that was the healing factor overworking. She lent her back against Jackie's shoulder, folding her forehead into the crook of his neck. They sat in silence for a moment, both coming down from the highs the powers had given them both, letting the last remainders of the tingles seep through their pours.

At last, Jackie broke the silence with a whisper. "Why did you not want to find out if you were hurt?"

Erin turned her head slightly. "Huh?"

"Before, you said you wanted to be healed before you found out of I had hurt yo--" and Jackie stopped, because he wasn't stupid. That's right, of course! Ignorance is bliss, and if he had, in fact, severely hurt his sister, even if she forced herself to forgive him, something deep-pitted in her soul would forever he scarred by this day. Her healed injuries would be proof of how dangerous her brother was, how easily he could kill her. Whether she had minimal bruising or a snapped spine, Erin didn't want to know the extent of her brother's dangerous powers.

He didn't wait for her response after cutting off his own words. He twisted his head over to place a chaste kiss on her forehead. "I'm sorry!" He wanted to cry, but he shook it off. "I'm so, so god damn sorry!"

Erin's breath as she chuckle tickled his neck. "I know. It's okay." She let her arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in to a tight embrace.

Two months ago, they hadn't spoken in three years. Two months ago, the most he could hope for was eye contact. Their souls, forged together in the wound, one egg split into two, had been torn in half so violently and so jagged by forces beyond their control with no hope for healing. But here they were, their chests pressed together, and Jackie finally felt like his soul was complete again. He felt home, he felt safe, and he knew that everything that had happened that had split them had simply been corporeal, human, trivial affairs. Erin may not have understood her brother, but they both knew their twin.

\---

Inevitably, he was late to the grand opening. The ribbon had already been cut, the small crowd had taken their seats, and the last few cups of coffee from the rush had been served.

As Jackie entered through the door, he let himself stop by the ornate coat stand to gather in the sight: dark oak, rustic, seemingly all handmade but with the quality of a carpenter with a passion. A large mirror hung on the far wall opposite the bar, a sill beneath it decorated with house plants, from spider plants to cacti, and despite the dark light, they all seemed to be beaming with life. There wasn't many people sat at the tables and booths, just a handful of pensioners, a couple of young adults and Old Man O'Brian (forever the life of the party, world-class Scrabble player and the absolute king of stories from his childhood. His presence, Jackie thought, was an omen, surely.)

When he spotted Marvin, he couldn't help but smile. He was behind the bar, a white mug with deer antlers as a handle in one hand while the other was held up high, a steaming metallic jug of milk pouring like a waterfall down into the mug, mixing with the espresso in a swirl of patterns. His face must surely be one of pure concentration with a glint of sparkle in his eyes, but Jackie couldn't see. The man wore a purple velvet cat mask over his eyes, a fine silver lace trimming the edges. _So, there seemed to be a pattern emerging_, Jackie thought.

As he got to the bar, Marvin was pulling the jug of milk away from the mug, cutting off the stream. His eyes still bore into the coffee mug as he spoke, "I'll be with you in just a moment, my friend." He turned around to the counter behind the bar to place the steaming mug on the tray.

Jackie couldn't help the tingle in his chest. 'Friend'? He had thought Marvin hadn't noticed who he was, yet. Maybe it was a generic thing Marvin said to everyone, being overly nice and friendly with his customers to gain their trust and keep them coming back. But part of Jackie's head hoped vainly that Marvin did know who he was without seeing his face.

It was as Marvin rounded the bar, coffee tray in hand to deliver table service, that he finally let his eyes glance at the face at the bar. Immediate, his steps stopped, and his face went from a generic smile, practised with ease with years of customer service speckled in his dimples, to one of pure delight. His eyes widened behind his mask, and Jackie could see the way his chest shuddered from underneath his silver button-up, although it wasn't hard, since the top three buttons had seemingly come undone (Jackie convinced himself that was it and it wasn't Marvin's choice to be this distracting around his customers.)

Jackie gave him a little awkward wave, his hand catching in the pocket of his hoodie on its way up, and Marvin gave a small chuckle before mouthing, "One minute." The barista turned and continued his delivery, waltzing across the room, weaving in and out of tables with ease to elegantly place the mug before Old Man O'Brian. Then, as if a dancer for the Russian Royal Ballet, he glided back to the bar, silver tray under his arm.

As he approached Jackie, the tray went flying and landed gracefully on the bar beside him, and before Jackie could react he found himself wrapped tightly between the strong arms of the barista.

"My friend!" Marvin exclaimed - (Jackie smirked to himself) - "You made it! I thought you weren't going to come! You said you would see me before the opening ceremony, and I waited for forty-five minutes outside before the crowds and press came, and I thought maybe you were stuck in traffic, but you said you lived in town and don't drive, and--"

Jackie let him go on and on, swaying side-to-side as Marvin used his hands to elaborate his thoughts, arms still tightly sitting around Jackie's arms, leaving him frozen, unable to unpin himself. From over Marvin's shoulders, he could see two of the pensioners, a couple of older ladies, give him a pitiful, yet humourous look. He smiled at them as he rolled his eyes. Marvin was certainly something, that's for sure.

When Marvin finaly released his captive, it was to serve a customer who had just walked in, a young man wearing AirPods who had a look on his face that read 'all I wanted was a god damn brownie and I'm greeting with this homoerotic fluff fest'. Jackie didn't blame him, but the thought certainly made him chuckle as he moved away from the bar to take a seat on the closest vacant table.

As Marvin served the confused man his brownie, Jackie took out his phone to read up the group chat with The Lads. It was their usual garble of nonsense, stuff which really didn't matter but certainly had an effect on making Jackie's day just a little bit better. Chase almost burnt the house down making toast (_Sperm Donor: "I buttered the bread before toasting it! How was I supposed to know laying it on top of the toast would make the curtains catch on fire!"_) and Seán was asked to host The Kids Choice Award this year (_Saggy Ears: "This fucking sucks, it's on Evelyn's birthday so I can't host it!"_)

He smiled to himself as he read their rambles. God, he missed them. He missed his two idiots, and nobody in the whole of Ireland was going to replace them, and it sucked. Why did he move here again? He had everything back in England: friends, the hustle and bustle of city life, actual crime to fight at night time.

He said as such to the chat.

The Lads  
Marvel Reject: "It sucks here."

He hadn't expected Seán to reply so quickly.

Saggy Ears: "Not all of it sucks."  
Marvel Reject: "Yeah it does!"  
Saggy Ears: "Stop being a Negative Nancy! Tell me one good thing about being home."

Jackie had to think. He thought of this morning, of Erin, of how he felt like finally their connection seemed to be coming back, like the pieces were finally coming together. But he didn't know how to word that with his boys. They wouldn't understand. They'd never been through something so soul-ripping as this.

He looked around the Catuccino, its dark rustic look flecked with silver, and then his eyes caught Marvin's. He stopped pouring his coffee and a second and their eyes held, and Jackie had to look away, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He turned on the camera on his phone and took a picture of the room as a whole, sending it to the group chat quickly before really looking it over.

Marvel Reject: "The new coffee shop in town isn't too bad."  
Sperm Donor: "Isn't that the fucking Kingdom murderer?"

Oh yeah, he forgot he had allies mourning The Kingdom. He rolled his eyes at Chase's message.

Marvel Reject: "The owner is pretty chill."  
Sperm Donor: "Who the fuck is that guy at the bar?"

Jackie took a second and went back to his photo, zooming into where Marvin was stood in the corner of the frame. He was still looking at Jackie, but a huge smile was plastered on his face, and his free hand that wasn't holding a customer's mug was holding up a peace sign. Marvin must have noticed when Jackie was taking the photo.

He replied to Chase, his own smile tugging at his lips.

Marvel Reject: "The owner. His name is Marvin."  
Sperm Donor: "Is he a furry, or something?"

Jackie furrowed his eyes.

Marvel Reject: "No, it's not like that."

He tried to think of an excuse.

Marvel Reject: "The coffee shop is 'cat' themed."

It was at that point that two things happened. Firstly, Seán jumped into the conversation by sending a GIF from the Cats Movie, a freakish, hellish nightmare of CGI and celebrity actors. Secondly, the chair opposite Jackie was pulled out, and with the elegance of a whisp of smoke on a winter's cold night, Marvin floating and landed across from him. Jackie was beginning to marvel the way this man moved so gracefully around such a small space.

Marvin was sat with his chin on his entwined hands, cocking his head to the side with a smile. "Texting your girlfriend?"

Jackie laughed, but didn't reply. He could have either awkwardly corrected Marvin and tell him it was his friends, or he could tell Marvin that he would never have a girlfriend, because he wasn't interested in getting one. Love was at the bottom of his priority list at the moment, and even if he was going fall in love, despite telling himself he would be open-minded to whatever the Fates decided, he knew that they weren't likely to be female.

So, silence was the better option, in his head. He let his laugh hang in the air, waiting for Marvin to drop the joke and continue on with the conversation.

He didn't. Marvin kept staring at his, eyes dark and shadowed behind the mask, filled with intrigue and curiosity. _Like a cat_, Jackie thought, a small smile perking at the corner of his lips.

Marvin broke the silence and lent forward over the table to playfully shove Jackie's shoulder. "I bet you came all the way here for free drinks, didn't you?" His smile was teasing and playful, and Jackie knew there was no accusation in his words. Before Jackie could answer, Marvin swerved out of his chair and twirled behind the counter. "What can I get you?"

"Surprise me!" Jackie loved coffee; he drank enough of it when he first started his night patrols, before his body clock adjusted to the new schedule. He could drink a sugar-heavy PSL or a unsweetened black coffee and would still enjoy both cups equally.

From where he sat, he watched as Marvin got to work. He had no idea what any of these machines did - the McDonald's he worked at back in Brighton had a push-a-button-and-wait kind of deal - but it amazed him how much work went into making an authentic brew. One machine was filled with beans, another with a pipe leaking steam, another with chutes that the black liquid ran from. It was all so amazing, watching Marvin's intricate ballet of pirouettes and twirls, one step to the right, his left foot spinning on the heel, a dip down as he pulled a sleeve of lids from a cupboard, arms flailing with precision and intent, until a frothy leaf perched on a warm lake appeared on the table before him with a small slice of pie to accompany it.

The dance ended with a crescendo and a final cut to silence as Marvin fell back into his seat, shaking with an energy that matched the expectant look in his eyes. Jackie eyed the coffee. It was a latte of some sort, which was a safe option for Marvin to choose. Lattes were basic, but could easily be customised, wasn't too strong, and wasn't too milky. The smell wasn't expected, though. There was a syrup in there, mixed in beneath the froth, something sweet yet earthy. Nuts? Hazelnut!

Still in awe at the ballet he had witnessed, Jackie stared at the drink. "I like the leaf," he managed to get out, and it wasn't a lie. The leaf, too, was a pretty basic pattern, the one he had seen a million times before on TV adverts and billboards for Starbucks and Costa, but this leaf before him seemed to swirl, curling at the tips, like the life of a real spider plant had been embedded within it, reaching out towards the sun. Jackie almost didn't want to drink it as to savour its unique beauty.

Marvin waved him off. "It's nothing special. You should see what I can do when I really let myself get creative."

"Can you do cats?"

"Of course I can do cats! Do you think I would open a cat-themed cafe without knowing how to make cat coffees?"

And Jackie had to laugh at that, because now he was imagining little kitties in plaid jackets and thick-rimmed glasses sitting at a tiny table drinking their miniscule mugs of coffee, meowing about politics and how Twenty Øne Piløts was better than Taylor Swift (Jackie was about ready to throwdown for Tay-Tay's honour, even if he would feel like a traitor if it was against Tyler Joseph's artistic poetry.)

Jackie let himself take a sip of the coffee. Just as he'd thought, it was a hazelnut latte, so sweet yet bold, tangy and flavourful. He had to put the mug down and focus on licking off his foam moustache to distract himself from the powers. They were at it again, overfocusing and heightening Jackie's senses. 

He gave Marvin a smile of approval. It was good coffee. He asked, "Can you do stars?"

"Yeah."

"Spirals?"

"Duh."

"My face."

That caught Marvin off guard. "Your face?"

"Yeah," Jackie lent back in his seat with a smirk, "I want you to preserve my image in coffee form for future generations to marvel at."

Marvin giggled, bringing his wrists curled up to his face. He wasn't wearing long sleeves, but Jackie could imagine it, perhaps a lavender woollen jumper, light colour to contrast with the darker purple mask.

That mask. It made Jackie curious, but he didn't want to seem rude by asking about it. Surely it was an aesthetic thing to keep up with the theme of the cafe. He'd probably take it off after he closed up later this evening.

Instead of asking, Jackie took another sip of his drink. God, this was good coffee. His powers wanted to swim in its description, but he bluntly cut them off, instead turning the volume up on the speaker inside his brain and blasting some good old Panic! at the Disco song (it became a distorted amalgamation of Victorious and Memories, somehow.)

"Hey, I wanted to ask you something." Marvin's voice was soft, almost shy, and Jackie had to stare at him a few seconds just to replay his words without the music in his head drowning it out.

"Sure," Jackie replied at last, relaxing his body, trying to give off an aura of comfort and openness. He often found that helped when comforting victims of crime during his night patrols, when they have just witnessed something horrific and are trying to mentally block all the details. Seeing how open Jackie was through body language alone was a big help in non-verbally encouraging them to tell him the information he needed to know to bring down the criminals and to get the victim help.

Marvin, too, relaxed his shoulder. "Well, something happened the other night, and-"

A man came up to the bar, and as quick as a cat startled by a cucumber, Marvin jumped out of his chair and greeted the customer.

Jackie stayed staring at the spot where the boy once was. Something happened the other night... His blood tingled. Something happened... at night... A robbery? An assault? Criminals?

_No_, Jackie thought, Marvin didn't seem too phased or injured. So something else, maybe something more innocent, something that not a superhero could help with, but a friend. Maybe Marvin just saw a funny post on Reddit (no, he was definitely more of a Tumblr guy), or maybe he was browsing the internet looking for a cat to adopt, or something.

But Marvin's tone of voice was so serious, like he wanted to confide in Jackie, tell him something personal, something that was worrying him. The other night? What happened the other night?

Jackie turned to look out across the cafe, and a figure by the window caught his attention. In the back of his mind, he recognised him, something about the way his shoulders were tense yet slouched, the shaggy hair, the way he cocked his head to the side. That smile.

Abél. Him. The guy from work, stood at the window, peering in, and it sent chills down Jackie's spine.

Then it clicked. That window. The same window Jackie had been stood at the other night, peering in, the same as Abél, his blue mask covering his face, his red hoodie tightly fastened over his chest.

Marvin had seen him that night. Jackie had scared Marvin. The tingles Jackie was feeling seeing Abél staring at him through the window must have been the same, if not worst for the poor barista who had been working alone that night.

Was that it? Was that what Marvin was going to tell Jackie? Had he figured it out yet?

No, surely not. It had only been just a glance, barely enough time for Marvin to have registered what little features he had on show. Yes, his beard was the same, but so many people in his town had beards, it could have been anyone.

Jackie picked up his coffee and took another sip, trying to calm himself down. He was fine, he was totally fine. Marvin didn't know. He kept telling himself that, Marvin didn't know.

Abél, still stood at the window, finally found Jackie in the small crowd. His grin grew wider, and he gestured for Jackie to come with him. Jackie glanced at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the room. It was an hour before he had to be in work. He should probably leave.

Jackie downed his coffee, took a few bites out of the pie (blueberry, yum!) then moved across the room towards the door. As he passed the counter, he gave Marvin a smile. "I'll pop in on my way back home after work," he promised, to which he recieved a smile and thumbs up from Marvin in return, who was still busy talking with a customer.

Jackie pushed open the door and raised an eyebrow to Abél. "What's up? How did you find me?"

Abél scoffed. "You wouldn't shut up about this dump all week." The boy kicked the bottom of the door in protest. "I thought you hated it."

Jackie shrugged. "The barista's nice."

Abél studied him for a moment, eyes glaring, but then he pouted, scoffed, and turned towards the direction of Tesco. "Don't waste his time."

A stab of pain hit Jackie's heart as Abél's words sank in. Don't waste Marvin's time, like Marvin could have friends so much better than Jackie. Jackie was useless, was pathetic.

He grit his teeth and began to follow Abél. "You're just jealous that you have to share your new best friend with someone else."

Abél halted his steps for a second to turn and glare at Jackie over his shoulder. "You're not my best friend."

"Then why did you come and meet up with me?"

Abél shrugged. "I don't know."

Jackie smirked, quickening his steps to overtake his edgy friend, walking backwards and grinning his teeth at him. "You like me, admit it."

"No, I don't," Abél snapped back.

"Yeah, you do!"

Abél growled at him. "If I hear another word from you before we get to work, I'll find where you live and I'll unplug your refrigerator in the middle of the night."

Jackie squinted. "What?"

Abél smirked. "You drink tea in the morning, right?"

Jackie widened his eyes. The milk! Sour milk tea! Jackie fake gaged and shoved Abél's shoulder. "You're evil!"

Abél smirked. "I'm the best!" His steps quickened to overtake Jackie as he led the way.

From behind him, Jackie watched Abél's back. He had an uneasy feeling, a low hum of tension that had been brewing in his guts since he spotted Abél at the window. It swirled and squirmed in his torso, like a cloud of smoke morphing and reforming into different creatures, one moment a snapping snake, the next a bristle of angered feathers of a falcon. It scraped and clawed and crept across his intestines and liver, his stomach and his pancreas, and it seemed to be screaming something at him, only the screams were muffled and muted, like a helpless victim being pinned down and smothered by a pillow.

Jackie closed his eyes. His powers had been messing with him all day. The kitchen roll, the coffee ballet, and now this. He had to ignore them, otherwise more people will end up hurt, like Erin had been hurt this morning.

Jackie forced himself to smile, then joined Abél at his side, matching his pace. He just had to ignore this feeling. It would be fine.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a footstep out in the hallway that had woke him up, although he wasn't aware that was what it was. All he knew was that something in his stomach didn't feel right, an eerie dread, something screaming at him to get up and hide. But he had awoken from such a pleasant dream; there was no logical reason for him to feel this way.

The room was dark, just as it had been when he had closed his eyes before sleep a few hours before, and in the quiet of the house, the clock sitting on the dressing table sang out a loud, droning rhythm, and it sickened him to the core to hear it.

But he needed to listen, he knew that. His ears were tingling, stretching and arching in order to hear something. He couldn't tell if the something was very quiet, or whether it has simply paused, but after sitting there for a minute, half-upright, eyes fixed on the dark corner of the room, letting his ears do all the work, he finally was able to convince himself it was nothing.

Perhaps it was a neighbour coming home from a half-night shift and had slammed the car door shut? Or maybe it was his housemate in the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of stolen cereal? Or, for all he knew, it could have been his girlfriend talking in her sleep.

He let his ears drop their focus to her, and past the thuds of the second hand of the clock that was thumping his skull, he heard her breathing, soft little huffs out her nose. His fingers, pressed firmly into the mattress by her side, could feel the slow rise and fall in time with her breaths. She was safe, she was just simply asleep.

He had awoken for nothing. A sleep-conjured hallucination, a fantasy of ghosts and demons, when really the biggest thing he had to worry about was this month's rent, which was due in two days, and even then he knew that his girlfriend would be happy to cover his food bills for a week if need be. So there, he told himself, he had nothing to worry about.

His eyes were burning. How long had they been unmoved, unblinked? He was still staring at the spot across the room, where his and his girlfriend's dressing gowns hung on the hook. His long, white gown and her short, black gown, creating an illusion in the dark of a horror girl, a creature that would crawl out of his computer monitor and eat his soul, long hair draped over a hideous face. He often laughed at himself when it scared him in the night, but the gown-monster had been living there for a few weeks now, and he was used to her tricks. It was nothing but clothing, that was all.

He blinked, and he realised the staring had made his vision blur. It was hard enough to see in the dark anyway, but the double vision and static flickering across his eyeballs made him squeeze his eyes shut just to rid himself of it. It helped. He looked back up at the dressing gowns, and he could see them now. His long, black gown and her short, brown gown.

The feeling swam in his guts again. He hadn't heard anything. Why was it curdling again? He raised his hand from the bed and pressed his palm on his tummy, trying to relax to get rid of the scampering bugs in his guts. He breathed out, closing his eyes as sleep grasped at him again, its bony claws circling around his face from behind, pulling him into his pillow again. He could fall asleep, he really could, so, so easily right now. He had no reason to be awake.

As his head hit the pillow again, his stomach kicked. He soothed the pain, running his palm over the fluffy material of his dressing gown, letting the soft fibers tickle his finger pads.

He sat up, eyes darting back to the hook in the corner of the room. It was empty. Only shadows lived there now. His hand clutched the dressing gown he was wearing. His bare legs pressed together tightly. His girlfriend let out a soft, sleepy moan, startled by his sudden movement, her black dressing falling off her shoulders. That's right! They had shared a bath last night and were both too tired to get dried and dressed for bed properly.

He turned back to the corner, his eyes and ears pulsing to the beat of the jackhammer in his chest. What was happening? A dream? A nightmare? Sleep paralysis?

A hand next to him reached out and latched tight fingers around his arm. He jerked back, flinging around, his arm flaring. It hit her right in the cheek. She yelped, scuttling back to put distance between the two of them.

What the fuck? He just hit her. His girlfriend, the one person he cared the most about in the whole fucking wide world. It was an accident, he was scared, but god if the sickening feeling of guilt wasn't the wake-up call he needed to wash away this awful paranoia.

"I'm sorry," he screamed, realising his voice was probably too loud for such an early hour.

The shivering girl by the door flinched at his words, and with a shrill whimper, she whipped out a hand and turned the light on. It was blinding, a rush of yellow and grey stabbing his eyes. He buried his eyes in his palms, taking deep breaths to calm himself. "I'm sorry," he kept whispering, "it was an accident."

When he finally adjusted to the light, he was alone in the room. The loosened belt of her dressing gown lay on the floor, pulling itself towards the open door. From where he sat, he could see the light on in the kitchen, could hear two voices talking, her crying into his housemate's shoulder.

Fuck. Not again.

It was all an accident, he never wanted to hurt her, never! He'd have to be some sick monster to ever consider hurting her. Even for fun, he wouldn't do it. He had refused to zap her during the party game he and his friends had played a year ago, the one with electrical buzzers that shock you for poor reaction time, and he had always let himself lose to save her. He was that person. He would willingly get hurt so that the love of his life wouldn't. This was an accident. Just an accident.

And yet this was the forth time this week. He couldn't even count how many times this had happened since she moved in. Five weeks she had been here, a temporary agreement so she could help him and his housemate cover the bills until they found a smaller apartment to share, after their other housemate left suddenly. She was doing him a favour, yet this is how he repays her. Paranoia, sleepless nights, and now this.

He hit her. It wasn't even his hand that touched her, it was the back of his wrist. The bone.

He shuddered. Recalling that detail made his stomach churn again. Maybe he would throw up this time. Maybe he would grab his car keys and stay at his friend's house.

He brought his knees up, wrapping his arms around himself as he felt the tears start to burn his eyes. His fingers grasped the fabric of his dressing gown, and he clutched it tight, as if his girlfriend's life depended on it. He let his eyes flick back to the gown's home on the hook, and as he expected, it was empty. There was nothing there. There was nothing in this room right now, nothing but himself.

But that feeling still crept at his stomach. It had been getting closer each night, it was telling him. The front garden, the front door, the porch, the living room, the kitchen, and now...

He felt the warmth drain from him as his eyes cautiously turned to face the door. The hallway, darkened by night, shadows dancing on the wall from the light of the kitchen. He stared at the darkness, and it stared back. He knew his eyes would burn again if he didn't look away now, if he didn't blink. He needed to let go of it, needed to run and hide. But he kept staring at it, and it kept staring back. It breathed rapidly, shoulders shaking and hunched, like a hyena ready to pounce, a wide, toothy grin snarling back at him. He swallowed. His throat tightened. Something cool ran down his throat. Sweat?

But then, as soon as it had began, the hammering beat of the clock struck 3:13, and the darkness was gone. But he knew better than to think it has simply retreated, had given up. No, it was smarter than that. It was more determined and vicious than that. Mind tricks. It was weakening him from the inside out first.

His eyes flittered away from the door, and he fell backwards onto his pillow. The trickle on his throat, now at his collar bone, fell with the gravity over his shoulder. He let a hand come up to swip at it. When he glanced at his hand, his guts dropped. Blood. Oh god, was it his blood? Was it his girlfriend's? He choked, no, it couldn't be hers. He didn't hurt her that much, it was an accident, an accident, he needed mean it, he didn't!

No, he screamed to himself, no, it had been his right hand that had struck her. It was his right wrist that was throbbing from the impact, and yet it was his left, the hand he had swiped his wet neck with that had the blood. It was his, it was.

He sprang out of bed and leapt into the chair in front of the vanity mirror on the dressing table. There, he screamed in his head, see! His neck was red with a line of blood, straight and precise across his throat, just a scratch, with a jagged trail where the droplet had ventured down his collar bone. It was his blood, not hers. His heart leapt with sudden relief.

Had he clawed at his throat in his sleep? Had his girlfriend wailed her hands back at him in retaliation, nails catching him before she retreated? There was a rational explanation for this, surely. He woke up with claw-marks across his body all the time from scratching himself in his sleep. This must have been the same thing, just eczema, or allergies, or something.

Another droplet formed on his neck, and he watched it hang there for a second, building in size, before it fell. He expected it to trickle down like its brother, but it skydived off his collar bone down onto the white fabric of his dressing down. He looked at it, watching it swirl and seep into the material, dancing around, finding roots to settle down into a lay in wait, staining and haunting its newly claimed home forever. He couldn't wash it out. He couldn't get rid of it easily.

The sounds from the kitchen had stopped. His love must have stopped crying. Perhaps she and his housemate had left and he hadn't heard the door? Maybe he was alone after all.

He turned his eyes to look back at the darkness in the hallway. Yes, he was right. He was all alone.

\--

He reached the end of his Pringles tin as the sun was setting, and he pouted as he struggled to scoop up the crumbs at the bottom. Jackie had superpowers, and yet, still, Pringles tins were as annoying and pathetic as ever. He popped the plastic lid on in defeat and, with a quick glance down at the park below, threw the tin into the air. It soared down, elegant and swift, to land gracefully, without so much as a clatter, into the rubbish bin by the side of the empty bench. Jackie laughed and fist bumped the air.

The air was chilled at this height, and the metal bars he was curled around were stabbing the bare skin on his hands, electrifying through the fabric of his red hoodie onto his skin. His legs dangled off the edge, swaying in the slight breeze, and he watched them bob around from where his chin was perched on the metal bar of the handrail.

This was a nice spot, he decided. Pleasant view of the park (a usual spot for low-tier drug deals), a safe distance away with the height advantage, and whatever security the library had seemed to have broken years ago, as the CCTV camera facing the roof door had no blinking red light and an exposed wire dangling next to it. He felt pretty safe up here.

The glow from the sun set pierced through the chill to warm his cheeks, and it filled his soul with energy. It bubbles and brewed in his chest, electrifying his veins and nerves down his arms, making his fingers jiggle in excitement. He loved this. He loved being a hero.

Even though his headphones blocked out the noises around him, he knew it was quiet. It had been a lazy Sunday, most people staying at home instead of wandering through town, and for a pleasant Spring day, most people had enjoyed the sun in the comfort of their garden rather than the park or town. Jackie, himself, had spent the day asleep, but had spent an hour hanging upside down, legs wrapped around a tree branch, watching Erin sway softly from her seat in the swing as they both chatted about Erin's date, both enjoying the stillness of the mass fairy garden they still maintained at the bottom of their yard.

Erin was probably curled up on the sofa right now, scooping ice cream from the tub, watching Take Me Out or some cheap reality game show for young adults. She had asked him to stay tonight, but Jackie couldn't. He couldn't skip out on his patrol, because the heavens knew that the day he took a day off was the day all hell would break loose and he would only have himself to blame.

It was as the last rays of warmth were touching his skin that he noticed a figure in the park. At first, he barely glanced at him. One person alone was never too much of a concern to him. Sure, he kept tabs on everyone he saw, but in terms of saving people, there was rarely times where one person by their lonesome could harm others (harming themselves was another case, one which, sadly, he had had to deal with many times over.)

He closed his eyes and sighed. This was too nice. Today had been a good day.

When he opened his eyes again, the man down below had taken a seat on the bench next to the bin, his back facing Jackie. Most likely he hadn't seen Jackie, hidden high up on the library, the glare from the sun casting him into shadows. The man was reading a book, his legs crossed, one arm resting on the arm of the bench, a freshly bitten apple hanging loosely from his fingers. What an absolute mood, Jackie thought to himself. To be so close to a library, and to sit outside reading in the rapidly chilling evening?

Jackie rose from his seat, pulling his weight up on the metal handrail. He had to warn this guy to go inside somewhere. Night would soon be here, and with it a chill so deep it would make any grown man curse a lack of jacket.

Jackie looked over the edge and wondered, would he survive the fall? It wasn't out of morbid curiosity, simply he had fallen off of buildings during fights before now and had survived. He had never been able to willingly jump to test his theory, still too scared of the possibility of death, but the height from here didn't feel too bad.

Jackie pushed himself away from the edge and turned to the fire escape. Not today. The impact on the ground, whether he landed on his feet or his skull, would scare the man. He didn't deserve such a scare.

As he descended, he watched the man carefully. Something was telling him to back away, and it unnerved him why he felt this way. Yes, his powers had done similar things to him before, warning him of concealed weapons and hidden ill-intentions, but usually it was his fight, not his flight, instinct that kicked in. Right now, all Jackie wanted to do was run.

As he got closer, he started to take in the appearance of the man. His hair was long and blonde, speckled with red strands of fire, all tied up messily in a bun on top of his head, pinned in place by a metal bookmark with a charm dangling from the end. As he stepped closer, Jackie saw what the charm was: a deer, mid-prance, its antlers rounded to the sky.

The man wore all black, and as he got closer, Jackie realised that it wasn’t a t-shirt the man had stretched across his back, but a cloak. It was a rich satin, so deep and plush, and from the distance between them Jackie could feel the tingles in his fingers, as if he had reached out to stroke a finger gently across the material. It glowed a deep obsidian black, a magnificent pull into an abyss, and Jackie had to snap his fingers tightly closed into a fist to rid himself of the fire burning in his hand. These powers of his weren’t going to give him a rest tonight, it seemed.

On the bench next to the man sat an open sactual, a rough brown lump of cotton that only a hipster could love. Although its outer appearance didn’t seem to intrigue Jackie, it’s what lay just within view at the top of the bag that pulled him in. It gleamed in the early moonlight, a pale white glistening with stars of deep blue, spiraling and cascading down from the top, like freckles on a sun-kissed cheek. The two almond-shaped holes bore into him, staring, judging. He had seen them before, only when he usually saw them, shockingly blue whirlpools of excitement and curiosity stared back at him. The eyes that seemed to judge his very soul right now were no more than the shadowed contents on the sactual.

However the eyes may have seemed the same, it was the ears that made him cock his head to the side. He had come to expect little triangles. The antlers that emerged from the top of the bag seemed to worm and pound, branching like roots, strong and harrowing. The sight of them made him stop his approach. His eyes flicked up to the pin holding the man’s hair together again, blinking as the deer charm flashed moonlight into his eyes.

Who was this man? Why was he here this late in the evening?

The man still had his back turned to Jackie and his head hunched over his book when he let out an audible gasp, and the apple went rolling out of his hands and across the tarmac path. The man flicked his head up - Jackie held his breath - and he let out a curse to himself. “God damn it, Snape,” he muttered as he rose from his seat, placing the book down on the bench. Jackie saw the flash of the recognisable ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’ cover that he had grown up reading with Erin, and he mentally facepalmed, because did this man seriously get so shocked by the ‘Snape killed Dumbledore’ plot twist that he dropped his apple? What kind of rock must this man be living under to have not known one of the most remarkable plot twists in literary history?

The men stepped forward a few steps and picked up his apple. Jackie froze, unsure what to do. The man wasn’t aware he was there, and the last thing Jackie wanted to do was to scare the poor guy who just wanted to be transported to a world of magic and wizards. The man raised his head to look around, his eyes finding the bin next to the bench. And then, with a sudden scream, the man snapped to look at Jackie dead in the eye. He must have seen his bright red hoodie out of the corner of his eyes.

Jackie raises his hands in innocence. “Whoa,” he said softly, “It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The man’s eyes were wide, his breathing rapid and jarring, and his overall shock reminded Jackie, much to his amusement, of a deer in headlights. The man’s eyes flicked from Jackie to the sactual between them, then with a sudden flash of courage, he lurched forward and sweeped the bag to his chest and held it tight. The sudden jolt and the awkward angle at which the bag was being squeezed sent the contents spilling to the ground. First, the mask hit the ground, the crack of acrylic echoing through the small park, closely followed by the thud of a small jewelry box, which opened and spilled a black rope necklace onto the ground, its small, silver pentagram charm rattling as it hit the tarmac. The rest of the bag was caught by the man’s arm, pinned between his elbow and his hip.

All the while, Jackie stood still, watching the man and making no moves in fear of scaring him further. It was as the clatter of the spilt contents ceased to echo off the trees and the night resumed its silence that Jackie finally gave a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders. “I just wanted to warn you that tonight is going to be a cold night, so maybe you should resume your reading indoors.”

The man didn’t react to Jackie’s words, instead continuing to stare wide-eyed at him. When the man hadn’t made a move after a beat, Jackie sighed and took a step forward. “Let me help you pick those up.”

Jackie’s steps around the bench seemed to pull the man from his catatonic shock. He scurried to the ground, letting the bag fall onto the mask and necklace as his body curled around them protectively. “No!” he screamed. “No, you can’t see them.”

Jackie stopped, his eyebrows furrowing. He was quite taken aback by this whole thing. Was this man high? Was he mentally ill? Perhaps the nude photos of his mistress were inside the bag and he was afraid his affair would be found out?

Jackie knew to take a step back, so he let his feet take him back around to the other side of the bench again. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he spoke softly to the man, “I just wanted to help. I can leave you alone, if you would like?”

The man looked up from his crouched position to meet Jackie’s eyes. The shock was starting to subside, but as it did, it seemed to be replaced by uncertainty. What was this man so scared about?

There were footsteps beyond the trees. Jackie’s ears perked up at them. The man’s head snapped around in the direction of the sound and a gasp caught in his throat. He turned back to Jackie. “You have to leave.”

Jackie raised his hands out again. “Are you okay?”

“Leave!” the man whispered harshly, as if he didn’t want to attract the attention of whoever was approaching.

Jackie turned to look back at the building he had been sat on moments ago and considered it. If the man wanted him to leave, maybe he should. His guts swirled and churned. He should leave. He absolutely should leave.

But his brain was telling him to stay. “I can help you,” he whispered back to the man.

The man curled further around his belongings. “Get out of here!”

“No, I want to help!”

Suddenly, the man rose, striding like a charging stag towards Jackie. He stopped at the bench blocking his path, hands gripping the wooden back, fury in his eyes. “Leave!” he screamed.

Jackie jumped back, his heart shaking. The footsteps sped up. He swallowed the burning logic screaming in his head and trusted his instinct, letting his feet sweep him away from the man and into the alley behind the building.

His breath was too rugged for him to hear what was happening back at the park, his heart-beat ringing in his ears. He had no idea whether the man was okay, whether the intruder was a friend or a foe, but he knew he had to run, no matter what was happening. His feet took him onto Main Street, took him past the Cattuccino, all the way out of town. They didn’t stop until his hand found the door handle of his home.

Erin was still awake, washing dishes in the kitchen. She came out into the hallway, bubbles trimming her wrists like fur gloves, and gave Jackie a raised eyebrow. “Did something happen?” Jackie followed her glance towards the clock that hung by the mirror. It was only nine o’clock.

Jackie shrugged. “I don’t know what happened.” He shrugged his shoes off and took his blue mask off, placing it on the table next to Erin’s car keys. “I’m just a bit shaken up.”

“Did you see something?” Erin asked, leaning back into the kitchen to grab a tea towel to dry her hands. “A murder? An assault?”

Jackie shook his head, folding his arms over his chest to hug himself. “No, nothing like that.”

Erin walked over to her brother and wrapped her arms around him. “Are you okay?”

Jackie nodded into her neck, breathing in the smell of home. His fingers clutched the fabric of her cardigan. “I’m okay.”

“Are you going back out tonight?”

And Jackie had to really think about that, because the night was still young. There could be people in trouble, crime to stop, youths to lecture and scold. But his soul felt shaken. He didn’t know what he had witnessed tonight, whether it was simply insanity or a drug trade, but something deep in his guts told him to stay here with Erin, wrapped up next to his twin where he was safe, where no one could hurt him.

Erin turned her head to place a kiss on his temple. “Stay home,” she answered for him. “Stay with me and we’ll put on Spider-Man.”

Jackie squeezed his eyes shut. He was such a bad superhero, he told himself. Peter Parker would never back away because he was scared. He would never miss a chance to save the day. Jackie placed a kiss on his sister’s shoulder. “Homecoming or Far From Home?”

Erin swayed them side-to-side. “You choose.”

Jackie sighed. “Homecoming.”

\---

The guilt was eating him all night. He didn’t sleep, not that he could have anyway because of his body clock, but even as the dawn broke and the sun came streaming into the kitchen where he stood making Erin breakfast, he still didn’t feel like sleeping. Yes, his body ached and his muscles begged him to relax, but the jitters still remained in his bones and he felt restless not knowing what was wrong. He damned himself for not going back out last night, for not walking it off and continuing to protect the town.

So when eight o’clock hit and he knew the Catuccino would be open, he gave Erin a kiss on the temple, shrugged on his shoes and a light jacket and headed out to town. The coffee shop was dead when he arrived. At the chime of the door, Marvin came floating out of the back room, his face beaming behind his red and gold cat mask. “Jackie!” he proclaimed. “Good morning, my friend!”

Jackie gave him a smile and settled himself on one of the bar stools. “Marv, I need the strongest thing you do.”

Marvin gave him a smirk. “Honey, just cause I go the gym twice a week and I have abs for days doesn’t mean you can waltz in here and demand my beautiful ass on a silver plate.”

Jackie almost fell off his chair as the laughter expelled from his chest. His forehead hit the bar and he found his fist hammering the surface, tears threatening to stab his eyes. The muscles in his stomach begged him to stop laughing, and as his lungs started to burn, he gasped in a breath and dared himself to look up at Marvin. The barista was lent down, elbows on the bar, fingers laced together, his chin lay across them, a smirk of faux innocence plastered across his lips with a spark of playful charm glistening his eyes.

When he had found his breath, Jackie pulled a tongue at him. “You don’t have abs.”

Marvin winked. “Of course I do.”

Jackie chuckled as he sat up straight again. “I bet you don’t.”

Marvin turned around and began to make Jackie his coffee, all the while glancing over his shoulder to smirk at Jackie. “Are you trying to get me to take my shirt off?”

Jackie laughed. “Is it working?”

Marvin turned away to hide his face from his customer, and Jackie could only assume that his friend was simply hiding a flirty smirk. This was all fun and games, but he had to be careful not to step over the line.

Marvin chirped up, “I can’t right now cause of health and safety reasons. I need to wear an apron at all times while I’m working.”

Jackie played along, “Oh, right, that’s why. Yeah, sure.” He caught Marvin’s eyes and the barista turned to work another machine, steaming the milk in a silver jug. Jackie perked up the corner of his lips at him. “Is there any rules about customers not wearing shirts?”

Marvin broke the gaze to look down at the jug. “No shoes, no shirt, no service.”

Jackie lent back with a smile. “Oh, damn. And here I was about to whip out the abs and biceps and start reeling in all the customers for you.” He gestured his arm out to the empty room. “You could do with some of them right now.”

Marvin whipped his head around to pull a tongue at his friend, but then just as quickly turned his back to continue making the coffee. “Shut up, I just opened.” He stayed silent for a moment before continuing. “I’m not getting as many customers as I was last week.”

Jackie lent forward and cocked his head. “What’s up?”

Marvin shrugged. “I don’t know. I know the other week was the grand opening and all that, and today is only Monday, but there just isn’t as many people walking through my door as there was the first day.”

Jackie pouted his lips. “Well, have you tried doing things to bring them in?”

Marvin turned around and brought two cups over to the bar, placing one in front of Jackie and the other, a milkier coffee, beside him. He spoke as he rounded the bar to take a seat next to his friend. “What like? You and your fabulous abs?”

Jackie took the drink in front of him and took a sip: honey and amaretto black americano. He hummed appreciatively at the barista. “My abs are fabulous, shut up.”

Marvin gave a small smile from behind his mug. “I’m sure they are.” His eyes glanced down towards Jackie’s stomach, then just as quickly landed back on Jackie’s eyes.

Jackie took another sip of the strong coffee. “How about some live acts? Like, singers and bands, you know?”

Marvin nodded. “I’ve thought of that. I don’t know how many musicians are in town, though.”

“I know there’s music students at the high school,” Jackie tried to help, but Marvin shook his head.

“They’re all under sixteen, so I’d need to get permission off the parents, and there’s loads of laws about child labour and all that.”

Jackie glanced around the room for ideas. “Why don’t you buy antiques and turn the place into a showroom coffee shop? I’ve seen some of them in Brighton. The owners sell the antiques to customers who saw and liked them while they were drinking their coffee.”

Marvin gently placed his mug down and ran a finger over the rim. “I wouldn’t be able to fund it. I’m barely affording the rent for this place.”

Jackie pouted. “Then, I don’t know.” He sipped his drink. “I’ll have a think for you, though.”

Marvin gave a sad smile. “Yeah. I really don’t want to have to shut this place down so soon after opening it.”

It was a sad truth, but Jackie had seen it many times before. Cafes and boutiques open in a previously vacant spot in town, only to close a month later because they didn’t make a profit. It was how it was in capitalism, and despite only a few weeks ago having cursed the business that had taken over the spot where The Console Kingdom had once lived, he now didn’t want to see the Catuccino fail. He cared about Marvin, and he wanted his friend to be happy.

The silence hung gently in the air between them, and it didn’t feel awkward or heavy at all. It was nice, peaceful, and Jackie lay his head on his arm on the bar, watching Marvin face as he slowly took a sip from his drink. Their eyes lazily locked together, like fingers interwoven, and it felt comforting and safe to gaze beyond the cat mask, a stark contrast to the fear and fire he felt at the stag last night.

It was after a moment of the peaceful silence that Marvin’s eyes fell from Jackie’s and down to his stomach again. He whispered, “Do you really have abs?”

Jackie felt a smile at the corner of his lips. “Yeah,” he whispered back softly.

Marvin’s cheeks hued a light shade of pink, and without letting the words out, Jackie could still feel them hanging in the air between them. ‘_Can I see them?_’ It was stupid, really. Jackie didn’t look like much from the outside, still battling against the shorter and more unfortunate bone structure that no matter how many years of hormones he was on would never change, so despite having biceps poking out from his t-shirt sleeves, it did leave quite a few people in denial about the strength of the rest of his body. Chase had taken it as far, one time, to strip Jackie of his shirt in front of a group of his friends just to show them all Jackie’s body. Of course, Chase was more focused on the muscles protruding through the skin, the sharp edges defined by years of exercising and free-running, but Jackie couldn’t help but think of all the eyes tracing the scars lined across his body: the stab mark on his hip, the surgical line from the time his appendix decided to turn itself into a ticking bomb, and of course, the two lines crescent under his nipples. The eyes had all watched him as he stood there, on top of the coffee table, his beer still in his shaking hand, waiting for the sea of disgust and repulsion. But none came. Chase’s friends had simply smiled and offered high fives, confessing their envy at his form and requesting Jackie’s workout routine for themselves.

The scars were there, they were never going to go away, but it still made his stomach knot when he thought about what people were thinking when they saw them. If he was to lift his shirt up right now, what would Marvin think?

He didn’t move. He saw the words floating in the air, unspoken by either of them, and decided to ignore their existence. He didn’t need to show Marvin. Now he thought about it, it was kinda weird to just whip off his shirt in front of his new friend. Marvin would see his abs in due time. Summer was on its way, and surely he would be walking around in shorts and sandals soon enough.

Marvin swivelled in his chair to mirror Jackie’s pose, laying his head onto his arm, giving his friend a soft smile as he did. “So,” he whispered, “any reason you needed the strong coffee today?”

Suddenly, all the unease from last night came washing back on Jackie as he remembered. He turned his face in his arm to cuddle his nose into his sleeve in comfort. “Ugh,” he groaned, turning face to face Marvin, “just had a weird night.”

Marvin pouted his lips. “What kind of weird night?”

Jackie shrugged the best he could in his hunched-over position. “I went on a walk and bumped into a druggie. Gave me the wrong vibe.”

Marvin sat up slightly. “Is everything okay?”

Jackie mirrored him, straightening up too. “I guess. Just left me feeling a bit weird, that’s all.”

Marvin’s eyes squinted behind the mask, and Jackie felt like his very soul was being interrogated. He closed his own eyes in retaliation. With a hum, he heard Marvin turn in his seat and resume sipping his drink. No, Marvin couldn’t find out who he was. He couldn’t know that he was a superhero.

He opened his eyes and reached for his own mug, taking a gulp of it to calm his nerves. Marvin reached out a hand to grab his wrist gently. “It’s alcoholic. Don’t drink it too fast.”

Jackie turned to look at his friend, and the hand on his wrist burnt his skin with its feather-touch. Why was he so hyper-aware of the contact? It must be his powers again, exaggerating and amplifying every sensation, every emotion.

After a breath, Marvin let his hand float slowly away to land on the bar surface between them, his palm upright, open and inviting. Jackie stared at it, a wave of temptation lapping at his chest, a tidewave of desire pulling him in deeper, but he snapped it shut. He breathed in quickly, the sharp inhale jolting Marvin out of his serenity, and the hand between them clasped closed and shot back to Marvin’s side.

The chime on the door rang, and the two boys turned to see two young nurses entering, both looking drained and not-quite awake yet. Marvin jumped from his seat and rounded the bar. “Hello, friends,” he greeted the nurses, “how’re you doing this fine morning?”

Jackie turned his back to the conversation and finished his drink quickly, against the advice of his friend. He placed the mug gently back onto the bar and raised himself from his stool. When he glanced at Marvin, despite talking to the nurses, the barista’s eyes were trained on him, filled with worry and concern. Jackie gave him a small wave goodbye. Marvin interrupted a nurse to take a step towards Jackie. “You’re leaving?”

Jackie shrugged. “I should probably get some sleep before work.”

“You just drank coffee,” the barista bargained.

“I should probably try either way.”

“Will you come back later today?” Marvin pleaded.

Jackie shrugged again. “Maybe.”

Marvin reached across the bar and wrapped his fingers around the fabric of Jackie’s sleeve. He pulled him closer, switching his clutch from the sleeve to Jackie’s shoulder. With a short lean in, Marvin pecked his friend’s cheek and squeezed his shoulder. And just like that, he was gone again, resuming taking the order.

Jackie bit the inside of his cheek, finding it hard to breathe past the dull ache in his chest. He shuddered a breath in at last, taking one last glance up at Marvin to find him softly smiling back, then turned and fled.

He told himself it was the coffee and alcohol that kept him awake, not the thoughts racing around his brain, ricocheting in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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